


Spice and Snails

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Finland being a douchebag, Food Porn, M/M, Matchmaking, casual homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sealand decides to do some matchmaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spice and Snails

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=17688354#t17688354) for [this prompt](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=17508386#t17508386) and kindexed [here](http://community.livejournal.com/hetalia_kindex/1028946.html)

Harry Potter, on the television, regarded the Marauder’s Map with some trepidation. Sealand kicked one leg over the back of the couch and leaned to grab some popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table.

Over the dialogue in the movie he asked, “How come Norway is mean all the time?”

Sweden swallowed a mouthful of popcorn. “He ain't mean.”

“He said Denmark had an ‘unhealthy and possibly pathological fascination with furniture design.’”

Sweden coughed, tucked an arm under his head. “Sometimes people’re rude bccause they want people t’ pay 'ttention to 'em.”

Sealand considered that. Ron Weasley remained obtuse. Sealand wondered how Northern Ireland was doing. “I don’t think Norway would be happy if everyone came to his house all the time.”

“Mm, no,” Sweden mumbled, covering his eyes. “He would, but only if it were people he liked.”

“Like you, or Iceland?”

Sweden grunted agreement.

“But not Denmark?”

“…’d prob'ly be _happier_ if'n it _were_ Denmark.”

“Oh.” Sealand thought about that for a minute. “That’s weird. He’s most mean to Denmark.”

Sweden cleared his throat, ate some popcorn.

“Does that mean he’s meaner to Denmark because he wants Denmark to pay more attention to him?”

“…y’coul’ say tha’.”

Sealand nodded, content.

 

 

 

He remembered when Denmark came over to talk business and greeted Sweden with, “Hey, you still got wood?” and Sweden said, “Only the kind for makin' furniture.” Which sounded like something Norway would say. Did that mean Sweden really really wanted Denmark to pay attention to him, too?

So he went to Norway and asked, “Does Sweden really like it when Denmark pays attention to him?”

Norway squinted at him sideways. “I wouldn’t know,” he said.

“But Sweden was insulting him and –” Sealand remembered then to cover his mouth. Norway frowned.

“With Denmark, it’s because he’s an idiot,” he said. “With the United Kingdom, it’s because he wants to sleep with America and France. You _have_ been told about submarines and harbors?”

“Yeah,” Sealand said, and wished his memory had an erase button. Jerk England kissing America. Gross. And he didn’t even have enough brain bleach for Jerk England kissing _France_.

“I apologise for the mental trauma,” Norway said, bowing his head a little, “but Sweden would try to be diplomatic about it.”

Sealand wondered if this meant that Sweden was lonely and wanted to sleep with Denmark. It probably did. Which meant it was Sealand’s duty to try to get them together so his dad could be happy.

 

 

 

The success of Operation Viking Romance! hinged on getting Denmark and Sweden to confess their love to each other. However, before that, Sealand had to make sure that Denmark actually loved Sweden, because otherwise they’d break up and Sealand would have made things worse, not better.

So he baked a pie with Sweden and asked if he could take some to Denmark. Sweden nodded, so Sealand cut out a couple of slices and brought them over to Denmark’s.

Denmark’s doorbell played a drinking song that Sealand kind of recognized because Denmark had been singing it at Christmas. He’d been leaning against Norway on the couch and had his arm around Norway’s shoulders and had made him join in.

Denmark opened the door. “Hey, you have pie. Did you make this?”

“Sweden and I did! Do you want some?”

“Sure.” Denmark liberated the plate. “Wanna come in?”

Sealand nodded and followed Denmark inside.

Denmark’s house was pretty cool, lots of pictures of boats and his national landmarks, and a lot of red-and-white plaid. And weapons. Usually ones with nicked blades and smooth handles.

“So what brings you here?” Denmark asked, setting the plate down on his kitchen counter and grabbing a fork.

“I want to get to know my new dad’s friends better,” Sealand said.

“Mm.” Denmark sighed and closed his eyes momentarily in bliss, but that might have been the pie in his mouth. “What do you want to know?”

“Is it true that you have a pathological fondness for furniture design?”

Denmark furrowed his brows a little. “It’s not _pathological_. It’s a hobby. Who said it was pathological?”

Sealand didn’t know what to say to that. If Norway had never said it to Denmark… “I don’t remember.”

Denmark shrugged faintly. “Probably Norway. Sounds like him. Man, I should call him, see if he’s doing anything Friday night.”

“Do you ask Norway out on Friday nights a lot?” Maybe Operation Viking Romance! wasn’t such a good idea after all, if Norway was all spiky to everyone-especially-Denmark and Denmark was trying to ask Norway on dates and wanted to play ‘looting and pillaging’ with him.

“All the time,” Denmark said. “He cooks real well and lets me look at the oil rigs. This is great pie, by the way. If you have leftovers I’ll take ‘em.”

“We might,” Sealand said, and made his escape, but not before rescuing the plate. Trying to get Denmark and Sweden together would not be a success.

 

 

 

He brought a slice of pie to Latvia because he needed to cheer himself up and Latvia liked strawberries. They sat in Latvia’s kitchen eating pie and drinking milk together, and Latvia almost managed to not spill any of his milk.

“I’m trying to get my dad a date,” Sealand said finally, “but I don’t know who. What do you think?”

Latvia blinked. “Why? Why would he want to live in someone’s house? They’d just try to run his life and make him eat their food.”

Sealand shook his head. “Not like that. The good way. Real dating, like in the movies.”

“Oh.” Latvia looked down at his empty plate. “I don’t know. Didn’t he used to be allied with Denmark and Norway?”

“Yeah, but they’re seeing each other now, I guess.”

“I guess maybe look for someone he likes a lot? Lithuania and Poland get along really well and everyone thinks they’re dating.”

“Huh.” Sealand finished his pie. The problem with ‘find someone he likes a lot’ was that Sweden always looked angry, so it was hard to know if he liked someone or was, well, using his usual glare. Maybe if he got his glasses prescription fixed he wouldn’t do that so much.

Probably not. Sweden had good healthcare so his prescription was probably accurate.

 

 

 

 

Sealand tagged along to a Nordic Council meeting later that week and traded high-fives with Åland and Faroe. Greenland smiled at him, but then, Greenland wasn’t very demonstrative anyway.

A few minutes before the start of the meeting, Finland pulled Åland away for a minute and talked to him, then sat down in his seat between Sweden and Åland.

“Mornin',” Sweden mumbled to him.

Finland smiled, wide and bright, and replied, “It seems like you’re as gay as usual, but I suppose that comes with being the anthropomorphic personification of the faggot country.”

Sealand closed his mouth. Then he stood up, because nobody else had reacted except for Sweden, who looked the same except more glare-y but not in that _You are trying to ship **what** across my neutral territory?_ kind of way.

So Sealand yelled, “You can’t say that!”

There was kind of a big freeze moment at the table and Faroe hissed, _Sealand –!_ except then Åland put a hand over her mouth.

“I guess not. Sorry,” Finland said, looking at Sweden, but he didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Don’t you even mean it?” Sealand asked. “When you hurt people’s feelings you should at least acknowledge that what you said was wrong!”

Finland tilted his head slightly. “Did I hurt someone’s feelings? I think I was stating a fact. Sweden, you’re primarily sexually attracted to men, right?”

Sweden didn’t answer. He looked like he was mostly thinking about the color of the cherrywood conference table.

“I think,” Iceland said softly, “that this should stop. Let’s postpone this meeting by twenty minutes so we can all calm down.”

“Agreed,” Norway said, standing up and going over to the coffee machine in the corner of the room.

Sweden stood up, loomed at Sealand, and said, “Out.” Sealand followed him, feeling shocky – he was shaking a little. He’d stood up to an official Nation – one of the members of the EU, even! And even if he hadn’t made Finland back down, he’d gotten concessions.

They stopped in the hallway outside the conference room, next to an ugly vase full of fake flowers.

“Sealan',” Sweden said, slowly like he was thinking about it, “’m proud that y’ know what y’ want t’ stand up for. But y’also have t’ learn _when_ t’ make those stands.”

“But it was a big diplomatic meeting! You can’t say things like that at diplomatic meetings!”

Sweden looked away. “Y'shouldn’. Not y’can’t.”

“You always tell me when I’m doing something wrong!”

“You’re still young. Finlan’s ‘n adult. That…makes it harder.”

“Oh. I guess this is one of those times when I should bring it up in bilateral negotiations, not big conferences?”

Sweden nodded.

 

 

 

So Sealand sat through the meeting, although he spent a lot of time surfing the Web with his PDA. Finland seemed pretty nice as long as he wasn’t talking to Sweden.

And then Norway replied to a comment of Denmark’s by saying, “That’s an idea so dumb it’s almost worthy of the United States,” and Sealand realized that Finland was being extra-spiky to Sweden and he already knew what that meant. So obviously all he had to do to get his dad a date was to find a way to make Finland realize he was in love with Sweden.

Except he didn’t know how to do that. He’d have to do real strategy, and real planning, and probably ask Åland and Faroe for help. But then he could get the Joint Sealandic-Swedish Crusade underway!

 

 

 

First stage: he talked to Åland.

“How come Finland is so mean to Sweden?”

Åland looked at him askance. “Because he’s small and looks adorable and can kick the ass of anyone who wants to take over him?”

“No! I mean, why Sweden? Why not, I don’t know, Denmark!”

Åland looked at the ceiling and shook his head. “Let’s start with the part where Denmark ddn’t keep him in his house for six hundred years, and then go on to Denmark not invading him repeatedly, and also Denmark not fighting wars with Russia on his land. On top of that, Denmark didn’t refuse to give him military assistance during the Winter and Continuation Wars. Although Norway did that too, so that’s not as much of a factor.”

“But – I mean –”

“Of course, a lot of countries aren’t nearly that bitter. If you ask me, it’s the part where I, personally, have been a custody nightmare. And also that Finland proposed to Sweden in the mid-1930’s and they were talking about getting married but Sweden backed out when Germany told him to.”

Sealand boggled. “ _Married?_ ”

Åland nodded.

“You mean he talks like that because he thought Sweden was going to marry him and then didn’t?”

Åland scratched behind his own ear. “No. I think I listed a few other reasons. But that’s in there.”

“But that’s great!” Sealand grabbed Åland’s hand and shook it furiously. “The JSSC can now commence!”

“…I’m not even going to ask,” Åland said.

 

 

 

Second stage: remind Finland of his true feelings. That was going to be a little more difficult.

Sealand brought a couple of slices of pie over to Finland’s house, because Denmark had liked it and everyone loved food.

When Finland opened the door, Sealand asked, “Do you want some blueberry pie?”

Finland lit up, all smiles, and said, “That’s really nice of you! Thank you! Why don’t you come in?”

So Sealand followed Finland into his house. The inside was painted in bright, cheery oranges and yellows, and his kitchen was painted blue. He had a few photographs of reindeer and landscapes covered in snow on the walls, and in one room a trapezoidal stringed instrument on a stand next to an electric bass.

His kitchen was painted blue, and he had a lot of knives in the rack on the wall. Sealand wondered what it was about the Nordic Nations and sharp things, between Sweden with a bunch of swords and axes in a rack in his basement, Denmark and his weapons on the walls, Norway and a glass case of harpoons stuck to the wall in his library, and Finland with his kitchen knives. Sealand had never seen Iceland’s house, but it would probably be about the same.

Finland took some vanilla ice cream out of his freezer and spooned some out over the pie. “Do you want some?” he asked, gesturing to the ice cream with the spoon. Sealand shook his head, and Finland put it away and started eating.

“I’m sorry that we got off to a bad start,” Finland said, after he’d taken the first bite. “But I’m sure you know everyone has things they go a bit mad over. Yours is England, right?”

Sealand nodded. “I can’t really be a nation until he admits I have a right to exist.”

“Mm,” Finland nodded, his mouth full of pie and ice cream. He swallowed. “You like living with Sweden?”

Sealand didn’t mind. Sweden pretty much let him do what he wanted as long as it wasn’t illegal or diplomatically inadvisable. He cooked better than Sealand, and way better than England, which in Sealand’s eyes made him already more fun. And he’d sort-of acknowledged Sealand officially, which made him a better dad than England was a brother.

“Yes,” Sealand said. “He’s really nice. He doesn’t try to control me or anything.”

Finland looked down at the counter and swirled his fork around in some of the melted ice cream. “I guess I could have been more diplomatic, you’re right.”

“Well, I mean.” Sealand didn’t know what to say. That was major concessions. Maybe there was hope for the JSSC. “There’s more pie at home. Do you want to come with?”

Finland looked down at his half-eaten piece of pie. “I don’t think so, but thank you!”

There was a gentle chiming in a pretty little melody and Finland’s eyes widened. “The doorbell,” he said, setting down his fork.

Sealand followed him to the front door, which opened on Sweden, who was glaring a little more than usual, but in a worried sort of way.

“Afternoon, Sweden,” Finland said, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest.

Sealand watched Sweden’s shoulders straighten like he’d been expecting a different greeting. He probably had been.

“’s Sealan' here?”

Finland reached backwards to pull Sealand forward, closer to the door. “He brought me some pie. We were just talking about you. ‘Speak of the Devil’…”

“He’s not the devil!” Sealand broke in.

Finland laughed and ruffled Sealand’s hair. “I guess that would be Russia,” he said, and guided Sealand out the door.

Sealand looked back at his house at the end of the street, and Finland was watching them. He waved at Sealand, so Sealand waved back.

“Did I do okay?” Sealand asked. “I wanted to improve our diplomatic relations after yesterday.”

“Y’ did fine.” Sweden’s hand rested on Sealand’s shoulder.

Sealand thought about asking Sweden if he’d still marry Finland if Finland would let him, but decided that would give his plans away too soon, so instead he asked, “Want to watch a movie tonight?”

Sweden grunted agreement.

 

 

 

Part three of operation JSSC: recruit Sweden.

They watched a film France had given to Sweden several years previously and which Sealand had heard wasn’t pornography. It was fun to watch, and was a sweet love story besides, so Sealand thought it would be all right to bring up questions about Sweden’s affections.

“Is it true what Finland said, that you only want to date other male Nations?”

Sweden tensed on the other couch. “’f they’re adults.”

“How is that different from Norway, if Norway wants to date Denmark?”

Soft silence, then, “That depends in your own opinions. Lot’s about who you're allied with.”

“Like Bosnia and Herzegovina?”

“Yeah. ‘r Germany’n Italy.”

“Or like you and Finland were thinking about.”

“Mm. Wait, what?” Sweden sat up on the couch and leaned forward, towards Sealand. “Where’d y’hear that?”

“…Åland…”

Sweden tapped his foot a little on the carpet. “That would’ve been a marriage ‘f convenience, ‘s all.”

“But you said that Norway was mean to Denmark because he wanted Denmark to pay attention to him! And then I found out that they go on dates on Friday nights! And Finland is even meaner to you than Norway is to Denmark!”

Sweden put his face in his hand. “’t doesn’ always work like that. Just Norway. Finlan’s just angry.”

“But you saw him today! When you picked me up! He was really nice.”

“He wasn’t gonna say anythin' rude in front of y’.”

Sealand crossed his arms and rolled over on the couch. “I think you’re wrong.”

He heard Sweden stand up behind him, and then Sweden patted him on the shoulder. “’s okay,” Sweden said. “Doesn’ hurt.”

Sealand thought that was a big lie. Otherwise Sweden would have argued with Finland, because he liked arguing. But he hadn’t. Sweden was probably hoping that Finland was only being prickly like Norway, and really just wanted to date him.

 

 

 

Stage three not having been a success, Sealand decided to try again with Finland. He convinced Sweden to bake cinnamon rolls with him, and brought three over to Finland’s house.

“You’re going to make me fat!” Finland laughed when he saw Sealand at the door carrying them.

Sealand thought about that for a moment, then said, “The better to see you hiding in the trees with?”

Finland laughed again and let him inside. “I’m no White Death. Here, let’s share, if you have room?”

Sealand nodded. Finland left one of the rolls on the plate Sealand had brought and took two on one of his own, beginning to eat.

“Oh –” Finland looked down at the roll after he’d taken a bite. “This is delicious. What did you add to it?”

“It’s orange peel,” Sealand said proudly. “Sweden’s idea.”

Finland touched the exposed filling with one finger, brought it to his lips, licked the filling off. “It’s good. I should ask him for the recipe.”

“I bet he’d be happy to give it to you!”

Finland’s smile curved and he took another bite of the cinnamon roll, but something in his eyes wasn’t right, and it didn’t fall right again during their conversation, even after Sealand changed the subject.

It did when the doorbell rang and Sweden was waiting on the other side.

“’m sorry he’s botherin' y’,” Sweden mumbled, taking Sealand’s shoulder and almost dragging him out the door.

“It’s all right,” Finland said. “He brought some cinnamon rolls, and they were really good. Could you tell me the recipe?”

Sweden coughed into his hand. “’d be happy t’, but ‘t’s not with me.”

“Well,” Finland said, “You could write it down and bring it by sometime.”

And Sealand, who might as well have been invisible to them, grinned. JSSC was on its way.

 

 

 

At a Nordic Council conference six months later, when Finland took his seat at the table, Sweden didn’t say anything to him at all. Mostly because they’d walked into the building together, having come from the same house – and, Sealand knew because he’d been sent off to spend quality time bonding with Åland, probably having woken in the same bed.

**Author's Note:**

> \- The "White Death" refers to Simo Häyhä, a Finnish sniper during the Winter War and arguably the deadliest sniper of any major war. (Wikipedia)
> 
> \- Åland being a custody nightmare refers, of course, to the Åland Crisis. But did you know that during the 1930's there was a proposed joint Swedish-Finnish rearmament of the islands? It was nixed.
> 
> \- proposed marriage between the Sweden and Finland characters in the 1930's is a historically supported representation of proposed plans to unify Sweden and Finland during the mid-1930's. However, it was not an arrangement favored by either Russia or Germany, so it fell through.
> 
> Source:  
>  Nissen, Henrik S., ed. Scandinavia in the Second World War. Trans. Thomas Munch-Petersen. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1983. Print.  
> 


End file.
